


Just a spoonful of sugar..

by deductionist (spectrenegade)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cake, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectrenegade/pseuds/deductionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has some free time and has decided to try his hand at baking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a spoonful of sugar..

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something I wrote in April 2012 and thought it was a shame to let it rot forever in obscurity.

Flour (e v e r y w h e r e, John was going to be just _thrilled_ ). Granulated AND light brown sugar. Cocoa AND baking powder. Baking soda, even. Three, count'em THREE eggs. Sour cream. _Melted_ Butter. Corn oil (clearly the amount of fat going into this masterpiece was bordering on epic). A splash of water (so it can pretend its healthy). Even a dash of salt (sodium chloride? seriously?)

All of these ingredients more or less ended up haphazardly thrown into Mrs Hudson's (stolen) yellow mixing bowl. A certain unnamed detective fiercely whipped the concoction into a muddy goo and, once complete, smiled at his effort. After briefly consulting a tattered and stained shred of yellow legal paper he began to search around for a properly sized (and organ-free (wanted to tease the croft, not kill him. at the moment, anyway)) baking pan. Swirling the mixture into the pan, he threw it into the oven, even closing it with a bump of his bony hip.

Don't ask about the icing, it was evil and he knew he should have bought it from Tesco's. Well, we have forty-five excruciatingly drawling minutes to fill so yes, let's discuss the icing. It was composed of bittersweet chocolate, more melted butter, yet another type of sugar (confectioners', sifted) and even more vanilla extract (for a cake of the chocolate variety, there was sure a lot of vanilla going into the mix..); for a man with his advanced understand of chemistry, this really should have been an easy task.

Nonetheless, he struggled to keep the icing on the (still warm) spongy substance and bit his bottom lip in concentration as he wrote his loving message in white chocolate. Finally, with a sprinkle of almonds around encircling the outside, he rested both hands on said bony hips in accomplishment. His forehead shone with perspiration, his nose twitched at the frosting that had somehow smeared on its tip and he even managed to get the flour strew through his dark hair. He was quite a sight indeed, but not the one intended for his dearest brother - with all the grace of a ravenous panther he whipped the iPhone from his back pocket and quickly took a snapshot of his baked delight.

Promptly he fetched the 'borrowed' white baker's box (poor Mrs Hudson) he'd left in the sitting room and gingerly lifted the maroon plate on which the confectionery sat. Gently it settled with a clunk and he carried it down seventeen steps to the front door where a slight mid-twenties was waiting. Handed him the box, 20 quid and a strip of paper with the hastily written address. Really, this was an abuse of the his irregulars, but decency be damned - he was a man desperate and when it came to Mycroft, nothing was too shallow. An hour later he lazily composed the following text, a sly upturning of his lips revealing his childish amusement:

_Mycroft. I've gone to the trouble of preparing your breakfast. I expect it should be arriving at your door shortly. And yes, that is Mummy's recipe. Enjoy. - SH_

Sherlock deftly attached the photo and send the text off into cyberspace.

**Image Attachment:**   



End file.
